


Breathless

by StarkRogers



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkRogers/pseuds/StarkRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Copyright: This is an original work of fiction. Sherlock Holmes is public domain, making this piece of work legally mine. You may not reproduce or publish this work on any site or in any journal or any other form of media without my permission. </p><p> </p><p>Holmes desperately wants Watson to choke him during sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

He has seen me strangle many an opponent, on our many nights out into dusty catacombs and the city's malodorous sewers. He knows the talent I possess with which I do this; the intimate attention I (usually) pay to the victims' pulse and struggles, how even the lividity of their skin can tell me when enough is just enough. I have often noted him watching me perform such things, and there is a keenness in his glittering eyes I had, until tonight, attributed simply to admiration. 

He implores me at the door as we enter our shared rooms, musty and smoky after a night of fresh air. Not verbally with the request - where would the fun be in that? Holmes is never so forward. Instead, he leads me to the bed, his eyes alight like fire, something new and dangerous burning behind their brown facade. I push him up against the back board, forcing him into a sitting position against the carved wood. It is uncomfortable I'm sure, and that is my intent.

"Watson…" He reaches up and crushes me into a kiss, rough lips dry against my own, and he is desperate to draw me down onto the sheets. He wants no distractions from what is on his mind, and I finally indulge him and this electric energy he is possessing. 

I draw my fingers down his rough, unshaven chin as I often do, and now tonight he arches his neck, presenting it to me as he unbuttons his shirt at the collar and lays it open, writhing beneath my breathless kisses against that eternally soft flesh, linen pants scraping against the bedsheets, and I still marvel at his desire. I bite and suck; the raw groans he presents me with fuel the growing heat inside my stomach. 

"Watson," he says again, and I look down at him as he pulls back, laying his head down on the pillows. He looks like a crazed doll, with his hair wildly shooting off every which way. I run my hand along his exposed neck; it is thick, as thick as many a brute's I've held down, and the look in his eyes… He draws a hand up between my thighs and I shudder, pressing my weight upon his neck for a moment. He forces me down farther, grabbing me behind my head and hoarsely whispering against the pressure of my hand, "More-" before his breath and voice is cut off completely.

I kiss him deeply as I squeeze, watching with my eyes open. I release him the moment he breaks the kiss to gasp. My hand leaves a white, then reddening mark against his neck. We both pant, him a bit more intently than I, staring at each other, eyes locked for long moments. I find him hard, straining against his trousers. I tear away the buttons holding up his trousers and he chuckles hoarsly, throwing his head back against the pillows. 

"So barbaric," he rasps, his voice already becoming raw. The sound makes my breath catch as I take him in my hand, lifting my body up onto my knees for the proper leverage. He sighs indulgently as I stroke him slowly, drawing my tongue down his neck before closing my free hand around it once more. I close my mouth over his and squeeze as he inhales, cutting him off mid groan. This time I don't let go so quickly, playing with my tongue along his open mouth, wet lips trembling. I pump faster and his chest heaves with moans that can't escape. His hips buck up, knees bending sharply as his eyes rolled, lips fluttering closed with what I could only imagine was ecstasy. 

I hold on as he twists beneath me, fingers twisting the bedsheets into agonized shapes.

Then, just as his pulse is beginning to throb, his flesh turning red, temples pulsating, standing out as jagged lines against his forehead - just then I see his eyes flutter back open, and I see in those glassy, dilated orbs lock onto mine with hesitant fear. His chin jerks upwards, reaching for breath involuntarily and I know, I see it in his face, the trust is barely containing the quickly rising animal instinct behind his eyes. Breath. Air. He's still madly beating his body into my hand below but even his regular rhythm is becoming erratic as the fear begins to rise. Nostrils flaring, his stubble rough against my fingers pressing into his throat. And then, just as he raises a hand, 

trembling, 

widely flailing, 

then is when I lean down and whisper into the blood rushing through his ears,

"Trust me. I'm a doctor."

And I have timed it perfectly. Even as he just begins to lose consciousness he comes to my voice, bursts of warmth against my hand and his stomach, and I release him to his precious air. He gasps in a roaring breath I know must be cold and raw against his swollen throat, internal tissues hot with lust and fear. He is hoarse, gasping and coughing.


End file.
